


once you're here

by thingsyoumissed (orphan_account)



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Consensual Kink, Handcuffs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:29:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thingsyoumissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...when we get home, there's handcuffs just waiting for your wrists."</p>
            </blockquote>





	once you're here

They're all on their fourth drink at least, and Pete is totally in Ryan's space and it's getting on Jon's last nerve. He makes some excuse about getting a glass of water or something, and wanders toward the bar. He doesn't get that far, though, only makes it about halfway before Ryan's hand is on his hip, and Ryan's mouth is very close to his ear. "You insisted we show up, Walker, and you had to have known Pete would be here. So I'm gonna play nice for the cameras and pretend I hang on every word he says, but when we get home, there's handcuffs just waiting for your wrists." 

Jon almost drops his empty glass. "Hand- what?"

Ryan smirks, and it doesn't match his miles of scarves and his hat with a feather in it _at all_. Jon swallows. "We'll go in a few minutes," Ryan says breezily, stepping away from him. "Gotta finish sucking up to the boss." 

"So long as you don't actually suck," Jon mutters under his breath, and _god, that was lame_ and Ryan gives him a dark look that makes Jon's fingertips tingle. 

"Stay close to me," Ryan says, in that same voice, the one that mentioned handcuffs, and it all lines up in Jon's head, clicks firmly into place. And so he listens to Pete talk, and he slings arm around Ryan for the cameras like Ryan's his little brother or something, all the while thinking about what Ryan's thinking about doing to him.

Ryan obviously does not forget about it, because the minute they get back to the apartment he's renting for the month (publicity, press, self-promotion; Jon hates it all), he pushes Jon up against the wall next to the door and kisses him harshly. He's surprisingly strong for being so thin, and Jon's tried to push back and failed, mainly because Ryan knows all the things that make him lose control in under five seconds. Like the spot underneath his right ear that Ryan's mouth is now lavishing attention on, and Jon can feel his traitorous knees start to shake and, try as he might to hold them in, there's little gasping noises working free of his throat. 

"I believe I promised you handcuffs," Ryan whispers, and Jon groans. They've never done handcuffs before, but Ryan's been steadily upping the ante for the last four of the six weeks they've been doing this, starting the night Jon had rolled off of him and panted "maybe I've finally got you out of my system" and Ryan had said "oh, _really_ " and Jon had immediately gone back to thinking he was doomed (in a good way, mostly).

"Come on," Ryan says now, and he wraps long fingers around Jon's wrist and they go into the bedroom. "Strip," Ryan says, and Jon does. He watches Ryan watch, but he doesn't bother dragging it out. He just takes his clothes off, one piece at a time, and when he's naked, he gets on the bed. It's still unmade from this morning. 

Ryan removes his own clothes when Jon's done, at a more leisurely pace. The tattoos on his wrists flash as he unwinds his scarf. Jon lets his gaze rest on every inch of skin as it's revealed, feeling his breath grow shallower by the second. Ryan walks to one of the open suitcases and slips a hand into a side pocket Jon hadn't even known was there, and retrieves a pair of wrist cuffs. He looks at Jon for a second, looks at the bed, the headboard. The he picks up his scarf from where it had landed on the floor. "Turn around," he says, and Jon shivers, turns.

He holds his breath while Ryan climbs onto the bed and comes up behind him, reaches around to buckle the cuffs onto his wrists. They're soft inside. "It's felt," Ryan breathes in his ear. "I don't want to hurt you. Reach forward." Jon does, and Ryan loops the scarf through the chain and ties it tightly to one of the long metal rods of the headboard. There's enough give that Jon can move (and he can reach to untie the knot, not that he wants to) but he can't really _go_ anywhere. 

"Does that feel okay?" Ryan asks, and the words are warm on Jon's neck. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"No, it's good." He can even sit back on his heels without pulling too much. Ryan's hands slide over his hips, then inward towards his cock, but he doesn't touch, and Jon bites his lip, knowing that asking will only make Ryan tease him further. Jon has learned exactly how much self-control he has, and it's not as much as he would like. Or as much as Ryan would like, which is probably one of the reasons Jon is handcuffed to the headboard. Ryan likes to push, in that way where Jon doesn't realize he's been pushed to the edge before he's gone flying over it.

Jon has also learned that he doesn't like to come first, so sometimes sex with Ryan is like fighting a battle with himself. 

Ryan drops a kiss on his shoulder, drags his fingertips near Jon's cock again. "You're being pretty quiet," he murmurs, fitting his body against Jon's so that he can stop balancing himself slightly forward.

"Probably because if I open my fucking mouth, all sorts of embarrassing things are going to come out."

Ryan laughs and it vibrates through his skin. "Things like that?"

"Oh, probably something along the lines of 'please touch my dick'," Jon says, a little shaky, because he can feel where Ryan's hard against his thigh. "Maybe with a little more gasping and pleading."

He can feel a smile curve Ryan's mouth where it's pressed to his shoulder. "I like pleading and gasping," Ryan says, "but I know you don't. And I know you've been hard since the party, so I'm not going to make you wait."

Ryan's made him wait before. It hadn't really done much to improve Jon's self-control problem. It had just turned him into a shaking, panting mess on the bed. A mess who'd come before Ryan had, from barely any friction, barely any touch. "I think that was one of the hottest things I've ever seen," Ryan had moaned into his ear, as Jon struggled to regain some sense of composure. Some sense of _center_. 

Now, Ryan reaches out to the bedside table and rummages in the drawer for a condom and lube. Without even thinking, Jon moves his knees wider. "Good," Ryan breathes. 

Jon hears him open the condom, then the opening click of the bottle, and then Ryan's wet fingers are pressing against him, rubbing in tiny circles. "Please," he whispers.

"Wait."

"You said-"

" _Jon_." It's a warning. Jon forces himself to be quiet, letting his head tilt back. Ryan kisses along his jawline and Jon turns his face to catch Ryan's lips, a kiss Ryan returns for a moment, his tongue darting briefly into Jon's mouth, before pulling back. When he speaks, his voice is low. "Don't distract me," he murmurs, and Jon's whole body shakes. 

Then Ryan's fingers return, pushing into him, two at once, and Jon has to concentrate on relaxing. Ryan sets a slow pace. Jon's moving his hips in time before he can even process the _oh god he's never fucked me with his fingers like this before, don't stop, please_ that's running through his head. Ryan adds another finger and he groans loudly. "Ryan..."

Ryan shushes him, his hand dropping away just as Jon rocks back against it. He hears the click of the lube bottle again, then a soft wet sound that he _knows_ is Ryan touching himself. The lube rolls off the bed onto the floor. "Don't let me forget that's where it went," Ryan mutters, and Jon chokes back a laugh just as Ryan's cock pushes into him in one smooth stroke. He exhales at the stretch and Ryan pauses. "Okay?"

"Good, good, I'm good," Jon breathes, unable to really move between the headboard and the handcuffs and Ryan's body so close to his. Ryan's mouth is wet on his neck and Jon can hear him saying something but he can't really make out much more than _fuck_ and _hard_ and he thinks maybe there was supposed to be a _you_ in between there because Ryan's fingers are starting to dig into his hips. "Please, come on," he whispers. Heat is coursing through him in time with Ryan's thrusts. 

"Wait," Ryan is whispering back, directly into Jon's ear. "Just wait. I'll blow you if you do," and Jon moans, because that's not something Ryan offers often. He can hold out for that, even if Ryan is now murmuring mostly unintelligible swear words in his ear, and dirty phrases that would make even Pete blush. Jon stops thinking so much about Ryan's cock in his ass and concentrates on his breathing instead, lets Ryan's steady stream of words fade to a hum. He matches each inhale and exhale to Ryan's steady pace. The cuffs are warm around his wrists, Ryan's fingers firm on his hips holding him in place. Jon focuses on holding back, on waiting, on giving Ryan this. And he really, really wants Ryan's mouth on his dick. All he has to do is hold still. 

Ryan stops talking and starts pressing a line of kisses down Jon's back, following his spine, each one warm. "My palms are tingling," Jon breathes, and Ryan stops. 

"The cuffs?"

"No. You."

Ryan kind of laughs and Jon feels him shiver, and then Ryan's arms slide around his waist and his hips start to work faster. Jon pushes back, just a little, hears Ryan's sharp intake of breath. The white noise in his head grows louder, blurring the noises Ryan is making, the noises Jon desperately wants to hear. He concentrates on one thing at a time, narrowing his focus the best he can: the heat of Ryan's breath on his neck, making his skin even more damp;

the hot, heavy rush of blood in his ears, made all the more thunderous by what's left of the alcohol in his system and the still-ringing vibration of the loud music that had been pulsing through the club the entire time they were there, still storming through his veins in time with Ryan slamming into his ass;

Ryan's hand, _fuck_ , Ryan's hand is sliding over his cock, making Jon twitch and groan and shove back hard against him, panting. "Please, Ryan, come on. Fuck me, come on," so low Jon can barely believe the words are coming from his own throat. Ryan whimpers against his shoulder and thrusts once more, hard, and then Jon can feel him breaking apart, feel the shaking through his thighs and ass and lower back, hears his name on Ryan's tongue. He keeps rocking his hips, trying to make it last as long for Ryan as possible, amazed that he's held it together this long, until Ryan pulls back and peels himself completely away from Jon, ducking down, then twisting his body underneath Jon's. 

Jon looks down, just as Ryan licks the head of his cock, and that's all it takes and he's mouthing expletives under his breath as he comes. Ryan's quick, he pulls back, but keeps stroking Jon's thighs. Jon barely notices he's coming on Ryan's chest, his whole head is buzzing, pulling at the cuffs without realizing until it's over, and then Ryan moves again, sliding completely away and off the bed. Jon watches over his shoulder, his breath harsh and hoarse, as Ryan goes into the adjoining bathroom. He's back in a few seconds with a washcloth, wiping off his chest. Jon keeps watching him, through eyelids that are suddenly so heavy. Ryan strokes the cloth down over his cock and balls, then does the same to Jon. 

Jon's breath hitches at the touch. He doesn't ask to be untied, just waits, and once Ryan tosses the washcloth on the floor, he curves against Jon again, firmly this time like he knows Jon's only a few seconds from falling over, and swiftly unties the scarf and unbuckles the cuffs. Jon stares for a second at the faint red marks. Ryan touches them gently, his fingers a faint echo around Jon's wrists, and urges Jon off his knees and down to lay on the bed. The pillow is cool under his cheek. 

"Are you okay?" Ryan whispers, pulling the sheet up over them after he turns off the light.

"Me? I'm awesome," Jon whispers back, drowsy, everything so hazy. 

Ryan bumps his nose against Jon's cheek. "That was kind of perfect," he mumbles, light fingertips down Jon's arms. Jon squirms closer, presses his mouth to Ryan's throat as the ringing in his head starts to fade out of noise and into almost-sleep. "You were fucking fabulous, Jon."

Jon licks at Ryan's ear. "Is my punishment over?"

Ryan laughs, and the sound skips and fizzles over Jon's raw nerves so much that his breath practically halts in his throat. But Ryan seems to sense his sudden strange feeling and kisses the corner of his mouth. "You felt good, right?"

"Yeah."

"You'd tell me if I hurt you?"

"Of course, you fuck." 

"Well, then shut up," Ryan says, his voice firm. "I don't want do this with anyone else but you." He rubs a hand lightly over Jon's bruised-sore hip and his thigh that's still aching from the strain, then rearranges their limbs underneath the blanket so they press closer together. Jon wants to breathe everything he's feeling out in a steady stream across Ryan's skin, but instead he closes his eyes, slides his fingers through Ryan's hair and down over his neck, and lets himself be tangled up even more.


End file.
